Clenched Heart
by lostatseanomore
Summary: Rukia wishes she could stay in Ichigo's arms forever. Her heart aches more than her wounds. Ch 2: Ichigo wants Rukia to listen to her heart for once. IchiRuki
1. Her Perspective

Disclaimer: Neither Bleach nor its characters belong to me.

Hope you enjoy.

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The darkness of my small room--if you could call it that, being as it was really a closet--was soothing. It was cool and comfortable and I curled deeper into my blankets. My head pounded and my ribs ached when I breathed, but all I wanted was sleep.

I was still slightly embarrassed by my poor performance in the last fight. I'd needed rescuing. Again. I _hated_ needing anything from anybody. Especially when I already owed _him_ so much.

I heard footsteps, then he slammed the door open, rattling the whole closet. I tried to throw him the dirtiest look I could, but was too tired and in too much pain to exert myself, and the influx of light blinded me. No, he couldn't just leave me at peace.

"What are you doing, you freak?" he yelled. He was obviously irritated, maybe even angry, but he had no reason to be. I willed him to just go away, to leave me alone, but he continued to stare me down. "You're injured. You can't sleep in this cramped space! And don't argue with me. You're sleeping in my sisters' room, got it?"

And with that he threw me over his shoulder. I gasped sharply. Pain shot through my body and I struggled to breathe. "Are you kidding me? Is this you trying to take care of me? By putting me up in your sisters' room? 'Cause you're doing a terrible job, throwing me over your shoulder like a bag of laundry! You're just making everything worse. Put me down right now!" I shouted, and pounded a small fist on his hard shoulder blade, which only caused me the pain I was attempting to inflict on him.

Then I hit the floor with a thud.

"Ouch! That really hurt!" I moaned, rubbing my backside. Now I really was sore all over. "Are trying to make me feel worse?" I glared up at him.

But his eyes said differently. He looked down at me and his amber eyes were glazed over and appeared pained, though I knew his latest injuries were healed already. He just stared at me and chewed on his lower lip, his jaw clenched and tight.

I tugged on his pant leg, trying to snap him out of his revere, his daze. "Hey I'm okay, really; just help me back to your room."

He didn't move as I struggled to pick myself up, but as I limped passed him headed toward his room he ducked under my arm and put a hand around my waist, supporting my weight. I limped over to his bed and sat down, wiped by that small release of energy. After, uncharacteristically, making sure I was comfortable, he sat at his desk and pretended to study, but I knew he was distracted. I watched for a while, pretending to rest. He looked troubled, worn too. His brow was furrowed and his eyes were dark, clouded, partially hidden by his soft orange hair splayed across his forehead. He was definitely upset, but I didn't know why.

After a while, the light in the room changed. I turned around to gaze out the window and saw the sun setting slowly. The sky was painted with golds and oranges. I sighed and ran my hand through my hair and found it greasy and disgusting, and remembered I hadn't bathed in a while.

He jumped up when I started for the door.

"Where are you going?" he demanded.

"To take a bath. Do you have an objection you'd like to voice about this too?" I snapped, perhaps too caustically.

He immediately looked away and blushed slightly. He slumped and returned to his seat, rubbing his head and muttering, "Call me if you get hurt or something and I'll get Yuzu."

After bathing, I returned to his room, dressed, but my hair still dripped wet. I looked for my brush and struggled for a while to run it through the mess. It was hard, with my right hand in a cast and my left hand being totally uncoordinated. The room was dark now, but he had a lamp on and it provided a little light. He still sat at his desk over various textbooks as I drifted in my thoughts.

I heard his chair screech and he snatched the brush out of my hand. I was ready to yell at him but he spoke softly with a somber look on his face and said, "Let me." With that, he began to gently run the brush through my hair, working slowly and thoroughly I sat there in minor shock. My back was to him as he sat behind me on the bed. He was surprisingly gentle, but I was afraid to turn around, to see his face as he did this kind act. This wasn't like him at all. But as he worked through all the knots and mats until the brush ran through smoothly, my heart swelled and tightened, and my breathing became more difficult.

When he stopped, we sat silently in the semidarkness. I kept my back stiff and straight and blood pounded in my head, continued to throb mercilessly. I wanted-no, _needed_ sleep. I just wanted to escape into my dreams...

But I couldn't move. I could hear his steady breathing behind me and couldn't will myself to move.

He cleared his throat and asked cautiously, "Are...are you still in any pain?"

I shrugged and immediately regretted it as pain reverberated throughout my body. "A little," I lied.

There was a moment of silence before he whispered, barely audible, "I'm sorry."

I closed my eyes and breathed deeply. He always did this, and I hated it. He always blamed himself for my weakness, for my injuries. "Don't," I said, and turned slightly to look at him.

He leaned against the wall behind him and ran his hand over his face. His skin was pale in the moonlight and the glow of the small lamp on his desk. He didn't look at me, but stared at the ceiling, appearing deep in thought.

"Don't do this...again. _You_ didn't do this," I tried to convince him.

He continued to look at the ceiling as he shook his head. "I should have protected you though. I should've been able to stop-"

My soft touch on his jaw made him pause mid-sentence. I felt it, the bolt of electricity that flowed between our bodies at my touch, and I knew he did too. It ravaged my already vulnerable heart. His eyes shifted sharply to meet mine, and I held their amber gaze firmly. I could see all that he was feeling through his eyes at that moment: regret, anger, sorrow. He was hating himself, blaming himself for my state. I shook my head. "Stop. Not tonight…please."

He continued to hold my eyes for a moment before nodding slowly in agreement. I removed my fingertips from his strong jaw, his warm skin, and started to turn away. Before I could stand up, however, he pulled me backwards, so that my back lay against his chest. His arms wrapped around my waist and he held me snugly against him. He rested his forehead on my shoulder as he said, "Just for a moment, please? I _need_ to know you're…here…you're okay."

Again, I closed my eyes and secretly relished his touch. I let myself relax and hugged his arms tightly. No complaints came from my ribs. We sat on the foot of his bed, holding each other, for what I hoped was eternity, but was probably a mere five minutes. His soft breathing rythmed into a lullaby and brought me to the edge of sleep. Then, right before releasing me, he pressed a gentle kiss to the nape of my neck, a kiss that burned my skin and squeezed my heart. My heart rate tripled and I felt hot blood rush to my face. He knew how I felt--how I _said_ I felt--but I knew he knew how I _really felt_. Deep down, I didn't want him to let go, ever. I felt safe and loved and beautiful in his strong arms. But he did. He released his grip around my waist and crawled off the bed, away from me. I felt so cold without his warmth engulfing me. But as I went to stand, his arms came beneath my legs and behind my back, and he lifted me off the bed. He cradled me close to his chest and I felt like a small, weak child in his strong hold. He then placed my head upon his pillow and covered me with his blankets. Somewhere in my mind I objected, but I had lost the ability to speak.

"You can sleep here tonight," he whispered. He reached, hesitated, then reached again to brush a strand of raven hair from my face. Again, I felt like a child, with him standing over me like he was. Subconsciously, I turned into his hand resting gently on my temple and cheek. We kept eye contact, and it felt as if his gaze was burning a hole into my soul. I couldn't even nod a response.

He pulled away and backed towards the closet. "Get some rest," he said as he climbed into my closet. My heart clenched tightly in my chest as he slid the door shut. My heart rate didn't slow any. I still felt him holding me, still felt his gaze on me.

I loved him. There was no denying it. He might know, but we could never be. Too many obstacles stood in our way. And I'd already broken his heart once. But as _my_ heart slowly shattered, as I turned my head into the pillow, as I buried myself deeper into the blankets, as silent tears slipped from my eyes, I let my mind drift off to sleep with the memory of myself in his arms re-playing over and over until the darkness overcame me.


	2. His Perspective

**Disclaimer: Neither **_**Bleach**_** nor its characters belong to me**

A/N: I really enjoyed writing the first part of this story and, while bored in trig this week, I decided to rewrite it in Ichigo's perspective. I've sort of done it before but both Ichigo and Rukia are such emotionally deep characters, it's interesting to see/write about their contrasting views and opinions. Hope it's not too similar to part one that it's boring.

Enjoy!

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I told her to sleep in my sisters' room. Against my better judgement, I attempted to be somewhat nice and I prepared her dinner on a tray, so she wouldn't have to pathetically limp down the stairs to dinner. Then I mentally kicked myself. It was _my_ fault she was injured: I had allowed someone to harm her. She was in pain because I had failed to protect her. Again.

I carried the tray upstairs, preparing my act of nonchalant succor--but she wasn't even there. I felt at least two distinct emotions begin to flow through my veins: anger and panic. Where the hell was she?

I slammed the tray down hard on one of my sister's desk, causing soup to slosh onto the tabletop. She could be so infuriating sometimes! Why couldn't she just listen?

Pent up frustration beginning to boil over, I stormed down the hall, uncontrolled, to my room. When I focused really really hard--which took too much effort for me to try to do all the tine--I could feel her spiritual pressure steadily pervading in my room. My fury subsided, if only a little--I let out a slight sigh of relief, knowing she was here...still here with me.

But she wasn't off the hook that easy. I stomped--dramatically thunderous--over to my closet, her room, and threw the door open wide.

"What are you doing, you freak?" I shouted. At first, she looked like a deer caught in headlights. Her violet orbs widened in surprise, and she clutched at the sheets tucked tight under her chin with white knuckles. Then she looked infuriated, but too tired to yell back at me like she normally did. That kind of threw me for a minute. "You're injured. You can't sleep in this cramped space! And don't argue with me. You're sleeping in my sisters' room, got it?"

With that I, unceremoniously, threw her over my shoulder.

She was feather light, but I heard her grunt in pain. My eyes slid shut. How could I forget about her injuries?

She yelled at me as I carried her out into the hallway, but my thoughts meshed with her words in my head and I wasn't really listening. A tiny fist struck my back, but it felt lick a tap and I struggled to contain my laughter: her attempt to injure me was humorous.

A trickle of blood ran down my shoulder. I stopped, looking for my injury, but I knew I wasn't cut. It was her blood! My rough carelessness had caused her wounds to reopen.

Without thinking, images of her bleeding running through my head, making me physically ill, I dropped her, which, of course, only made matters worse.

"Ouch! That really hurt!" she whined. She rubbed her butt, and, had I not been the one to cause the pain she was feeling, I would have made some smart-ass remark about her not being ladylike. But I didn't. She looked up at me, her eyes pained, revealing her hurt. "Are trying to make me feel worse?"

I looked at her as she sat on the floor at my feet. She was so frail-looking. Though I knew, firsthand, that she was tough, knew she could take care of herself, I had this overwhelming desire to protect her with everything I had, with my very being. It consumed me, especially lately. How could I ever let someone harm her? The fact that I _had_ let someone harm her pissed me off so bad, and anger started flowing through my veins, making my blood hot. I clenched my jaw, trying to control my emotions.

She tugged at my pant leg. "Hey I'm okay, really; just help me back to your room," she tried to assure me, her eyes now slightly softer.

I swallowed. She was _not_ okay, despite what she tried to downplay.

I guess I took too long to respond because she struggled up on her own, tried limping past me. She didn't--couldn't?--look me in the eye as she did. But I swiftly took hold of her waist and helped her too my room; discretely, to be sure she didn't notice, I used a trick Hanataro had taught me to quickly reseal her would, and I made sure she stopped bleeding. She hobbled, slowly, over to my bed, where I sat her down. She panted quietly, and her face had paled.

"You okay?" I asked, a little unsure.

She nodded she was.

"You need anything?" I tried.

She shook her head, not making eye contact.

I merely swallowed and sat at my desk in response, not quite sure what to say. I opened my Trig book and tried to focus, but I couldn't. I kept glancing at her out of the corner of my eyes; she was leaning against the wall, with her head tilted back and her eyes closed. The sun set in the window behind her, casting an orange glow over her silhouette. She peaked an eye open every couple of minutes, but every time she did, I looked down at my textbooks.

It grew darker, and I flipped my desk lamp on, though I didn't really need the light: I wasn't getting any studying done.

She sighed and I quickly glanced up at her. Before I could breathe, she was getting up and heading for the door.

I jumped out of my chair. "Where are you going?" I nearly shouted.

Now _she_ scowled. "To take a bath. Do you have an objection you'd like to voice about this too?" she bit out harshly.

I quickly turned away from her as I felt the heat rush to my face. I would _not_ be escorting her to the bathroom. Hell no.

I sat back down and said, "Call me if you get hurt or something and I'll get Yuzu," casually scratching my head.

She, gingerly, continued to limp from my room. I then strained my ears until I heard the bathroom door close behind her, until I heard the faint running of water. Again, I tried to return my focus to studying, but at this point, why bother? My mind was so scrambled, I'd be lucky if I could remember how to tie my own shoes let alone remember basic trig functions.

After about ten minutes, I got it in my head that she was taking too long, and I started pacing around my room, my frustration growing.

But I was too chicken to check on her. What if, when I burst in on her, to "check on her," she was still...naked?

I tried to shake the thought out of my head.

Then _I'd_ be the injured one.

She had already told me--though unconvincingly--she didn't have feelings for me, and I was trying--more like struggling--to respect her boundaries...at least until she came to her senses.

Finally, I heard the doorknob turn and I swiftly returned to my seat. She walked in slowly, retrieved a brush from the closet, and sat back down on the bed. This time, she faced the window.

With her hand that was not encumbered with a cast, she struggled to brush her hair. It was so knotty, I winced _for_ her, but she never emitted a sound.

I sighed. Unable to watch any longer, I seized the brush from her grasp and sat down behind her. She turned, fire in her eyes, but I spoke first. "Let me." With that, I began to run the brush through her wet, raven strands of silk that smelled of cherry blossoms. I tried hard to make sure the brush didn't snag, and I finished in less time than it would have taken her.

It reminded me of when Yuzu and Karin were little, right after Mom died. Yuzu's hair had been long back then, nearly to her waist, and Mom had always brushed and braided it for her, told her how lovely it was. When Mom died, though, Yuzu had cried so much she didn't brush it for nearly two weeks; it wasn't anywhere near "lovely" then. One day, she'd been in the living room, crying, and I couldn't bear to see her like that any longer. I started brushing it for her every night, and every night she cried, missing Mom. The night she stopped crying was the night she cut all her hair off.

I stopped, but did not move. I could hear her quiet breathing; I could smell her clean skin; I could see the tiny goosebumps grazing her exposed neck.

She did not move either.

"Are...are you still in any pain?" I asked, clearing my throat.

She shrugged, then tried to hide her wince. "A little," was her reply. She _was_ in pain, I could see it. Her irregular breaths, the way she sat: stiff and uncomfortable.

_Damn..._

"I'm sorry," I whispered.

She sighed. "Don't," she said firmly, turning to look at me.

I leaned back against the wall and ran my hand down my face, tired and exasperated. I couldn't look at her and, instead, looked at the ceiling. I shook my head as I confessed, "I should have protected you though. I should've been able to stop-"

But her touch on my jaw stopped me. All words and rational thoughts flew from my head at her touch. It sent a bolt of electricity through my entire body, and I hoped she couldn't see my heartbeat rapidly spiking at the pulse in my neck. I looked back at her, into the violet pools that both haunted and graced my dreams, and her eyes bored into mine. She shook her head adamantly. "Stop. Not tonight…please," she requested softly.

I stared at her for a minute before nodding my agreement. She removed her fingers from their place on my jaw and started to stand until, before I knew what I was doing--I just couldn't let go, not yet--I pulled her back against me and held her close, desperately needing her touch. I wrapped my arms around her and rested my forehead on her flanneled shoulder. "Just for a moment, please? I _need_ to know you're…here…you're okay," I pleaded.

She didn't move and she didn't object. In fact, I could've sworn she relaxed into my unwarranted embrace. I closed my eyes as I held her, breathed her in, told myself over and over that she was here, she was fine, she was _alive_. Darkness flooded my soul and my spiritual pressure spiked just thinking about losing her...even if she'd told me we'd only ever be just friends. But I knew that's not what her heart wanted. I could feel it every time she looked at me.

I wanted her, so bad, more than I've ever wanted anything, ever.

But I wanted her to want me back. It was her decision to make, whether or not to follow her heart.

Without thinking, without giving myself the opportunity to talk myself out of it, I brushed her hair to the side and press a gentle kiss to the nape of her neck. Her skin was hot and alluring and I let my lips linger for a moment. It took all my strength to release her. But I did.

My arms felt weak and empty without her.

I got off the bed and, before she could object, I lifted her and tucked her under the covers in my bed.

"You can sleep here tonight," I told her quietly. Before I realized I was doing it, I brushed a stray strand of raven hair from her face and tucked it behind her ear, leaving my hand on her cheek. She didn't say anything.

Finally, I tore my gaze from hers and backed towards the closet. I said, "Get some rest," before climbing in. Once I was shut into the cramped, dark closet, I kicked myself. The couch would have been way more comfortable. Though the closet wasn't long enough for me, the shelf wasn't wide enough for me to sleep on my side, so I, grudgingly, settled for propping my heels one the wall. Even the sheet was too short.

I avoided her in my thoughts as I tried to go to sleep, to no avail. She consumed my every thought.

She _was_ my every thought.

But the only thing I could do now was protect her. Protect her body, protect her heart. And fight. And hope.

I would die fighting to protect her.

And I would die hoping to love her.


End file.
